


Sound and Stars

by tainry



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: F/M, Xenophilia, not exactly sticky though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5821861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tainry/pseuds/tainry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus and June do a little talking, do a little stargazing, do a little sumpin' else...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound and Stars

**Author's Note:**

> For the tf_prime gift exchange 2013.

“How old are you?” Her liquid courage wasn’t even beer these days; an herbal green tea a friend had sent her from England. Called Little Buddha. It had bits of pineapple and papaya, sandalwood and licorice, chamomile. It was fruity but sufficiently tea-like to not be too sweet. She liked it. The rain had passed, leaving the air fragrant, the breeze warm and deliciously moist. Her skin drank it in, as her eyes drank in the distant lightning and the fading sunset and the blue, blue sky overhead. 

Was that a smile? She couldn’t tell from the ground, his chest was sort of in the way. 

“I emerged from the Well approximately nine thousand millennia ago. I have been Prime for less than four thousand of those millennia.”

A thousand thousand years. That was… “You’re nine million years old.”

“Approximately.”

She was glad she was already sitting down. She was thirty-six. “So…a centenarian among us is just a kid to you?”

“Our peoples measure maturity in different ways, and we do not develop along entirely similar paths, but that is perhaps not an altogether inaccurate assessment.”

“Wow, Optimus, a ‘yes, June’ would have worked, too.” Did his eyes – optics – just twinkle? Was her heart fluttering as fast? Yes to both. Older men. Older! That explained things. She’d been unfair to Jack’s father – younger than herself by only two years. But they had been important years. His leaving hadn’t been wholly his fault, either. She had pushed him away with her unspoken, unacknowledged disappointment. She had thought she wanted to be the older, wiser, stronger one in an unequal relationship. Making up for things in her parents’ marriage, maybe. She’d been very young, too.

She was tired of only seeing his eyes over the sky’s reflection on his windshield. Setting her mug down, she found an indentation on his leg and began to climb. When he offered her a hand, she stepped onto his palm, journey to Wonderland, and stepped off onto his shoulder. 

“So humans and Cybertronians are like a May-December relationship.” She grinned. “Or, in our case, a June-December relationship.” 

More than a little smile this time. He tipped his head back, grinning broadly at her pun. Jack had said Primes don’t party, that Bulkhead had never seen Optimus cry, laugh or lose his cool. So the robots must normally do those things, even if Primes did not. Aliens. They seemed so human. She leaned closer. Warmer than the storm-tossed air, cooler than a car hood in summer. She could see herself and the sky reflected in the metal, elongated by the curve of his face. She lifted a hand, hesitated. This was a person, a machine, yes, but a person. He blinked, nodded slightly toward her, closing the distance, but let her complete the gesture. Contact. 

The metal was smooth as it looked; glassy. Polished. She stroked his cheek lightly. It felt solid, but it moved quite a bit when he spoke; their faces were very expressive. She wondered if there were the equivalents of muscles behind the shining “skin” or… gears and levers and pistons. His mouth was a thin, unembellished line; mobile and communicative despite that. She ran a fingertip along the edges where the metal met, not sharp but curving inward she noted now that she was close enough to see fine detail. Something in the quiet tapestry of sounds his body made hitched slightly. His lips parted, a startled half-inch.

“You can feel that?” They bashed each other around so much in battle; they were armored like tanks…but they did feel pain. And in battle, Optimus closed that face-mask thing. She had never seen the others do that. Maybe his mouth was particularly sensitive. 

“Yes,” he said softly.

Glimpsing internal structure where she had thought to find maybe only a speaker grille, she tipped her head sideways to get a better view in the fading light, and he obligingly opened his mouth.

“Why do you have _teeth_?” She pushed the metal lip-plates farther apart. “And…is that…a tongue?” Kind of? Parts of the inside of his mouth looked like, well, the inside of a robot. The floor of his mouth held a strange, dark, cushion-like object. Biconcave like a red blood cell, maybe, though she couldn’t see the underside. She flattened her hand against it. Warm, with a slight give to it, not exactly muscular. Some kind of metal mesh? Not wet at all, though. She drew her hand back, suddenly realizing he couldn’t answer until she got all her extremities out of his mouth. “Sorry!” 

“Mmm. For at least one of the same reasons you do,” he said, eyes bright. “Our voices come from our vocalizers, but we shape that sound with glossa and lips and denta.”

“You’re not just mimicking us, then; making your lips move to…to put us at ease.” She had felt the air move as he spoke. Breath of robots. No, not breath exactly. They weren’t doing it for oxygen exchange. 

“No.” 

He smiled and she mimicked him. Maybe she was naïve, but it seemed like a thing the Autobots at least would do. She liked the way he even squinched his eyes when he smiled. She flattened her hand against his cheek, below his nearest eye. Pulled it back, curling her fingers against her palm. “I’m not…bothering you, am I? Up here?” Pressed her hand on the warm metal again, not wanting him to think she was repulsed. “I’ve just noticed that, except for Bulkhead, none of you is very…demonstrative.”

“Human cultures have many and varied customs and taboos regarding physical contact. We try not to trespass.”

“And we’re squishable.” 

“That too. Your bodies may be fragile, but your courage and determination are strong.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” she sighed, moving her thumb in a slow half-arc. Smooth like a freshly-waxed car, she supposed, but not exactly. She wanted to touch her cheek to his…but that would be a bit forward. And harder to explain than just trying to figure out how the anatomy of his mouth worked. He blinked, and she jumped slightly at the rapid, sharp movement so close to her face. 

“Are you afraid?” 

“What? Now? No, not afraid, I’m just…um…” Was her train of thought that obvious? Or was he picking up on something else? Body language? Or, no, temperature, pulse, respiration…basic things; and they’d been on Earth long enough to be able to correlate increased rates with emotional states. Another human wouldn’t necessarily be able to read those things without tools. But what if the Bots could…she didn’t know…see in infrared? Could he hear her heartbeat? “I’m…” She should get down. Or sit down. But she didn’t. She kept crouching there, on his shoulder, kind of leaning with her hands on his face, looking into his right eye, which had so many amazing, intricate parts, all moving, focusing on her even though she was so close – she had no doubt he could see her clearly. 

“Agent Fowler has explained to me the workings of a device called a lie-detector. I believe the pertinent term is ‘galvanic skin response’. Humans do give off a very small electrical field.”

“Yes we do. We use that in a number of medical testing and monitoring devices.” Safe ground. Medical, professional. Scientific, even!

“Ah. To us, your field is only detectable via direct physical contact. I have not myself had very much experience with this.”

“Oh?” Did she want to imagine what he meant?

“Yes. Once in a great while Miko or Raf has patted my foot in passing.”

June giggled. Not the most mature reaction, but she thought she might do dumber things to keep that little smile on his face. Also, she had just been pawing around in his mouth. What had that felt like to him? He hadn’t said whether human electrical fields were…nice, or uncomfortable. Or just weird. She was still touching his face. She should probably stop doing that. “Does it tickle?”

His eyes squinched again; brighter than the stars. The moon hadn’t risen yet. “Yes. I do not mind. Please do not tell them, though…”

“Girl Scout’s honor.” A sudden image of him jumping around and transforming to avoid a tickle attack appeared in her mind. She bit her lips. “Am I…tickling you now?” Hands, June, what are your hands doing? Your patients appreciate human comfort, but what are you doing here? Flirting with a thirty-foot-tall alien robot is what you’re doing oh god. 

“No.” 

That low, rumbly voice. Was he flirting back or was she imagining things? Or was he being polite? “So do you…your electrical field… You said you try to observe human customs, but then…what are _your_ customs? If it’s not rude to ask?”

“Never be afraid to ask,” he murmured, nudging into her hands; and she thought he probably meant more than what she’d asked. There was that eye-squinch again. “Physical contact is not our primary mode of expression. We are not indifferent to it, by any means. But we find sharing electromagnetic fields somewhat more…enfolding.”

She stroked his cheek and something in his chest, under her feet, began to hum. He said not to be afraid to ask. “I don’t suppose you kiss, then?”

“We do.”

Kissing robots. Robot people. Who kissed. They had lips, teeth, a tongue. She spread her fingers, avoiding the little notch under the lower margin of his eye. “Does this…feel okay? Or weird?”

“It feels…nice.” So much going on in that voice. Wonder, gentle amusement, thoughtful assessment…pleasure. His hand curled around her like holding a moth, some fragile thing whose wings he didn’t want to break. She spread her arms, turned her head, feeling the smoothness of his metal against her cheekbone. He nuzzled into her, against her whole body. He smelled of warm metal, stormy desert air, something that might be oil but like no oil from Earth. 

“You feel nice,” she whispered. “I wish…” She closed her eyes. 

“Hmmmm?” 

There was nothing else to call that but a _purr_. A giant lion purring inquisitively. Goosebumps rippled over her from scalp to toes. If certain parts of her hadn’t already been radiating in infrared, they were now. How was she supposed to cope with someone who could do that to her with just his voice? Just a little peck, she told herself. At the corner of his eye. His lids flicked narrow as she touched her lips there; robots with a menace reflex. Warm metal against her lips – just as smooth even to more sensitive skin – felt so good she lingered, her breath making no mist on the mirror-like surface. “I wish…” 

Ponies, she thought. Just as likely to come true. Wishes were for children. She was grown up. They weren’t, couldn’t be the same species, not without making things a thousand times worse. But. Maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe a little kindness mattered more than what planet they were from.

“Indeed.”

Oh god had she said that out loud? Apparently she had. Eyes wide, frozen. His hand still curled so gentle around her. 

It wasn’t a kiss exactly. His lips moved against her belly, feathery, almost fluttering, lifting the light cotton of her top. Her skin prickled as his lips brushed up and down, ribs to hip-bones. What did it feel like to him? Faint human field on sensitive metal lips. He opened his mouth a little wider, eyes closed. She reached back and unhooked her bra, returned her hand to his face, petting him in slow circles. She saw a flash of teeth, felt her belly pull in, but the teeth never touched her, bared only in the intensity of his expression, making way for the dark tip of his tongue. 

He hummed again as it made contact, just below her navel. Firm, hot but not uncomfortably so, mobile. The tip broadened, spanning her abdomen, and began to move upward, lingering over each millimeter. By the time it reached her collarbones – and stopped, no please don’t stop – her nipples were fully hard and she was keenly aware of the heat and heavy pulse between her legs. Did he understand what he was doing to her? He withdrew his tongue, moving his lips on her skin. Tasting her field. Her sweat would increase the conductance. The thought of him licking ultrasound gel off her sent a jolt through her core – and he felt it, too, fans or something in his chest stuttering. 

He lapped one breast, then the other, the tip of his tongue nudging, circling hard nipples and pebbled aureoles. She arched her back, reaching with one hand over her shoulder to grasp the edge of his thumb, pushing her breasts at his tongue, so he licked them harder, swirling around them, extending the tip to tease her nipples, until her torso contracted, back arched taut, and she writhed in an odd sort of release that left her still aching and wanting between her legs. He pressed his mouth against her belly for a moment, shivering, moaning so softly she almost couldn’t hear him over her own heated breathing.

He extended his tongue again. The elastic of her scrub pants, and her panties, was no impediment. The blunt tip of his tongue pushed them down, pushed her legs apart. She held on tight, trying not to rock her hips so obviously…oh it was too late for that. The lick continued upwards, just as slowly as the first, leaving her panting – and close to the edge, dizzy with it, tingling with half-imagined charge. 

Exposed and open, when his tongue moved between her legs this time she rolled her hips, begging him with her body to linger. He hummed, dropping his voice deep, increasing volume until his tongue, his face, the air, her body vibrated with it, throbbing and pulsing, drowning her stifled cry. She clenched hard against him, gasping, and it continued, on and on, the strength of the contractions tapering only slowly, his hum vibrating through flesh and bone and blood until she was conscious only of the sound melded with feeling; she was ocean and he was shore and the rising wave kept rising and glittered white spume across its crest but never broke. An incredibly extended climax the likes of which she’d never felt before, not even on her honeymoon. He withdrew his tongue just as pleasure began to tip over into discomfort, stimulated parts becoming overstimulated and tender; continuing to move his lips over her body, thrumming to himself quietly, almost contemplatively. A meditation, perhaps, on fragile human skin. She lay quivering, wrung out and panting, sweat cooling slightly in the warm night air. The mass of stone beneath them would give up its heat for hours longer.

She found herself half-cradled, half-covered by his hand. He had tugged her clothing back into some semblance of order, but his shoulder was made up of too many irregular pieces to be comfortable to lie on. She didn’t mind very much. They couldn’t exactly spoon in the usual sense. She sat up, looked up…and went warm all over again at his gentle smile. Wait. Had he climaxed, too? Did they climax? Nothing on this planet was going to wrest the words _was it good for you?_ out of her mouth. Except in all politeness she really ought to ask some kind of question of that type. Oh god. She peered over the edge of his chest.

He was sitting as he had been, leaning back on one arm, legs outstretched, feet dangling over the edge of the mesa. Oh my god, she thought, I did not just check his crotch for…spillage. But she had. And there wasn’t any. There were other indications of his enjoyment, though, once she stopped worrying and paid attention. Whirring things inside him were winding down. Fans slowing. His eyes were still closed, his face turned toward her, lips parted in a soft smile. She settled back, cross-legged on his shoulder, laid a hand on his cheek. 

“This…we…I…haven’t created an interplanetary incident, have I?”

He shook his head minutely. “No. War provides many lessons, most of which are cruel, or at best uncomfortable. Sometimes, however, good can be gleaned from even the harshest experiences. Life – of whatever natural span – can end without warning. Compassion, love, and yes, pleasure, should be enjoyed, shared whenever possible.” His eyes opened, vivid in the dark.

“People say things like that on this planet all the time, too. We’re very aware of our finite lives, even if we try not to be conscious of it most of the time. Funny how seldom we take our own advice.” She stroked one of the cables in his neck, and felt his engine rev. “You only live once. Or as the kids are saying these days, YOLO.”

Optimus blinked, comprehension washing over his face. “I had wondered why Miko so frequently referenced a county in northern California.”

June laughed. Another thing she liked about Optimus – he wasn’t afraid to show his befuddlement. He wasn’t afraid to be wrong, or vulnerable, at least not among friends. He was too old, too self-confident, to spend a lot of time worrying about his macho image. He could stand up under criticism.

Just sitting next to – well, all right, _on_ – him made her think about things that had never crossed her mind with Jack’s father. Life in the universe. War and death and the cost of peace. The origin of planet Earth. Her son the interplanetary traveler. The stars were so, so bright tonight. She leaned against Optimus’ chin.

“Can you see Cybertron from here?” she asked, wondering why she hadn’t before now. 

“No. One can see your galaxy from Cybertron, however. Our planet lies in what you astronomers term the Large Magellanic Cloud.”

“Can you see that, from here?” 

“From the southern hemisphere of Earth you can. It lies between the constellations of Mensa and Dorado.”

“Second star to the right.”

He smiled and kissed her hair. “And straight on till morning.”


End file.
